


my baby shot me down

by skyestiel



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Lance (Voltron), M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Poor Keith, Possession, Post-Season/Series 03, Pre-Season/Series 04, Some Sap, birthday fic, brief black paladin lance, but mostly a n g s t, even though she's technically bad in this, justice for narti??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 03:32:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13068216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyestiel/pseuds/skyestiel
Summary: Keith sinks into himself. His heart thumps wildly in his chest. Pulse fluttering, sweat trickles down the curve of his jaw, down the line of his forearms.This? This isnotLance.But then… who is it?or: Keith learns something new about Lance, thanks to Narti, but nearly loses himself in the process.





	my baby shot me down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vyxalix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vyxalix/gifts).



> [taps mic] so uh..... yep... i'm still alive. and out here writing about my favorite space boys. school has been crazy this semester, but winter break is a great time to write!
> 
> this is a suuuuuper late bday present i've been working on since july... hence why narti is still in the picture. i'm still sad that she's gone but oh well... i'm not bitter at all!!!
> 
> anyway, i really hope the greatest samurai i know, tae, enjoys this. i'm so sorry this is late, and i hope it was worth the wait! i know how much you love angst!! hopefully my second present will really have you smiling <3

 

In hindsight, Keith should’ve listened to Lance. 

 

The team had been gathering intel for weeks on Lotor’s location. They'd been hoping to find him alone, but no one could ever be sure whether he travelled anywhere without his generals. After a considerable amount of digging, Pidge and Hunk managed to find the Prince. On another Galra base, housing yet another piece of the Teludav. It only made sense that Lotor would seek out the other pieces. 

 

And if he really was planning what Coran thought… well, they couldn’t let him have a single piece of the Teludav. 

 

Lance, of course, had his own opinion on the matter. 

 

“If we run into his generals again, Keith, we'll be in serious trouble,” Lance advises. He’s practically jogging to keep pace with Keith. “We barely scraped by last time.”

 

“We don't have a choice. Besides—” Keith glances over his shoulder. “I know we can handle them.”

 

The intensity of Lance's stare is impressive. Doubt flickers across his gaze, and, at this point, it’s a familiar look on Lance. If anyone volunteers to point out the holes in Keith’s plans, the flaw in his logic, it’s Lance. Usually followed by Hunk and Pidge, agreeing with the team's surprisingly level-headed right-hand man. And Allura gladly takes up the slack whenever Lance can't be there. She has no qualms with lecturing Keith or picking apart his strategies. Leadership in their ragtag group is more of a team effort than Keith ever anticipated it being.

 

Not that he— a reluctant leader— minds. The extra help comes in handy. It makes his job the slightest bit less stressful. 

 

“They're so close and I just— I'm worried,” Lance admits. The clamor of his feet, along with the waver in his voice, is enough to stop Keith in his tracks. He turns quickly to face Lance. “I don't want any of us getting hurt and… I'm not sure if we're ready to fight them.”

 

Keith hates this. Seeing Lance weighed down by fear and apprehension. The thought of his new position taking the jump out of his step, of the responsibility dimming his sunny disposition, makes Keith queasy. Lance's compassion  _ made  _ him a great teammate. And an even better right arm of Voltron.

 

In these situations, Keith’s traitorous mind turns to one simple question: What would Lance do?

 

_ He'd try to comfort me _ , Keith's subconscious helpfully supplies. 

 

So Keith tries for just that. Carefully, he sets a hand on Lance's shoulder. He relishes in the gasp it draws from Lance. It's a nice sound— almost as nice as the thought of catching  _ Lance _ , of all people, by surprise. 

 

“Calm down. If things get hairy or if anyone gets even remotely hurt, we'll bail.” Keith thinks back to past conversations and lightly squeezes Lance's shoulder.  _ A classic Lance gesture of reassurance. _ “And I won't let us get separated. We fight together, right?”

 

Lance gapes at him for one horrified second before glancing away. The barest hint of pink dusts his cheeks, the column of his throat. This particular side of Lance is always satisfying. Not shy necessarily, but a bit bashful. The notorious flirt getting flustered over a single comment? A callback to Lance's own insistence that the team work together? Oh, it’s an accomplishment alright. 

 

Keith can pinpoint the exact moment Lance concedes to his plan. “Fine, fine. But if anything bad happens—”

 

“It's on me,” Keith interjects and throws in a smirk. “I know.” 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

(And, in the end, it  _ is _ on him.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

Wherever Lotor goes, his generals follow. 

 

The team learns this the hard way. Rushing through the halls of the Galra base, the paladins only expected to come across Lotor. His location had been finalized from the very beginning. Somewhere, Lotor lurked in the shadows of Lupta, doing whatever he could to get his hands on the Teludav piece. 

 

With, as the paladins learned, the help of his four generals. 

 

“They're here… aren't they?” Lance murmurs. He's standing close enough that each word tickles Keith's neck. “The generals?”

 

Keith bites back a lie. “Unfortunately.”

 

“Keith—” 

 

“Just hang close,” Keith interjects. “And remember the plan. I’ve got your back if you've got mine.”

 

A soft, pleased gasp trickles across Keith's skin like electricity. “Whatever you say, mullet.”

 

When the door opens to reveal Lotor’s squad, it reminds Keith of the last time the team faced them. Immediately, Keith lifts his bayard and, out of the corner of his eye, he watches the rest of the paladins do the same. Lance stands at his right, proudly brandishing his rifle. And there’s a fierceness in his eyes. Glittering blue irises brimming with determination and anger. Those same eyes dart to Keith before returning to the generals. 

 

“Fancy meeting you again,” one purrs. Keith doesn’t know their names— and doesn’t really care to— but he recognizes this general by the long, wispy appendage on her head. She’s easily the bubbliest of the group and studies them with devious-looking eyes, tinged yellow and periwinkle. “It’s been too long!”

 

“Not long enough,” Keith growls back. His fingers tighten around the handle of his bayard. 

 

Another general, the one Keith recognizes from their encounter in the belly of the Weblum, levels Keith with a piercing glare. “Ezor,” she warns, but the bite in her voice is clearly intended for Keith. “We’re going to finish this here and now.”

 

“Finally!” The largest of the four bellows. She fixes Allura with a scarily excited grin. Bearing two rows of glistening sharp teeth. “An Acxa plan I can get behind!”

 

There’s hardly any time to react before the muscular general dives for Allura. She fires a few quick shots in succession, which Allura just manages to dodge, rolling safely out of harm’s way. Keith curses under his breath. Fear forces him to seek out Lance, who should be— 

 

_ Shit _ . 

 

Keith had expected the bright and cheery general— Ezor?— to target Lance again. Or even the one from the Weblum, Acxa. What he hadn’t anticipated was the third and most mysterious of the bunch to take Lance on. 

 

“Lance—”

 

But it’s too late. 

 

“Aw, you don’t want to play with me?” Ezor drops down directly in front of Keith and, before he even has the opportunity to retaliate, she lunges forward. As Keith quickly learned the last time they fought the generals, Ezor is nimble. Like a venomous snake slinking through the grass, waiting to strike.

 

Keith levels his bayard, but Ezor easily maneuvers out of the way. The blade barely knicks her side as she dances closer. Body swaying, each movement precise and lethal. One wrong move, and Keith will end up pinned beneath her, choking on his own breath.

 

“But you’re so  _ fun  _ to play with,” Ezor hisses. The appendage on her head— Keith still is curious as to what the hell to even call it— cracks like a whip. It nearly knocks the bayard out of his hand. But the greater trouble comes when she kicks out her leg in an arc, knocking Keith’s feet out from under him. 

 

Keith falls back and winces at the impact. Solid ground against the blessedly sturdy paladin armor. It jars his head, though, and leaves him lying on the floor, gritting his teeth. 

 

And it’s— it’s bad. More than bad. This is exactly the position he didn’t want to end up in. Even worse, he has no clue how the rest of the team is holding up. Allura, Hunk, Pidge,  _ Lance _ . 

 

It’s like all the air is stolen from his lungs before Ezor’s hands even clamp around his neck. How had he lost track of Lance? They’re partners or co-leaders or, hell,  _ something _ . Teammates that have each other’s backs. And the leader is nothing without his right-hand man. 

 

Ezor pins Keith to the ground with horrifyingly little effort. Using her full body weight, she holds Keith in place with muscular thighs and an iron grip on his throat. It’s like he’s drowning rather than being crushed on the cold floor of a Galra base. Water flooding his system, clouding his vision and making it increasingly difficult to think beyond a constant stream of  _ Is everyone alright? Am I going to die? I can’t let Lance die.  _

 

“La— Lan—” The name catches roughly in Keith's throat. 

 

“Interesting,” Ezor comments offhandedly. Her fingers clench tighter, digging into his windpipe, and Keith sees stars. “The big, bad leader calling for help?”

 

Keith tries desperately to lift his bayard, but it's getting harder and harder to breathe. His lungs suck in as much oxygen as they physically can. But it hurts, everything hurts. He just needs to know if his team's alive. If Lance is still fighting. If he even has a reason to keep struggling against Ezor’s hold. 

 

Suddenly, the flash of a shot zips overhead. It scrapes past Ezor but not before clipping her shoulder. 

 

Her reaction is immediate. Crying out, she releases Keith and leaps off of him to face her new attacker. 

 

Keith manages to crane his neck, curious as to who saved him, and— of course. Of  _ course  _ it’s Lance. 

 

A worn and slightly beaten Lance, gripping his bayard with steady fingers. A weak yet cocky grin playing at his lips. The ugly purple tinge of a bruise colors his cheek and tiny scratches litter any visible skin. The brilliant red of the rifle forces a gasp from Keith’s throat. 

 

_ Red, red, red.  _

 

His thoughts are a tangled mess. Still recovering from the pain and shock of being pressed into the floor and strangled within an inch of his life. Red— Red’s bayard, the bayard that used to belong to Keith. Now in the capable hands of Lance. The strong grip of someone braver than Keith could’ve ever imagined and, oh God, Keith is delirious. Definitely delirious. Reminiscing over Lance and switching lions and fighting together and softened blue eyes and— fuck.  

 

_ Calm down,  _ Keith chastises himself, although blearily.  _ Patience yields focus.  _

 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Ezor hisses. The venom dripping from her voice surprises even Keith. He knows it isn’t good, knows that he needs to stop her, but his body feels like it’s moving in slow motion. Half his normal speed. 

 

Lance grins, and Keith swears he hears his stupid heart skip a beat. Pounding a frantic rhythm inside his chest, dragging adrenaline through his veins. “And you shouldn’t have attacked our leader,” Lance growls. There’s something dark and furious about the tone of his voice. Words clipped around the edges, sharpened to vicious points. It sends a shiver down Keith’s spine. 

 

“Don’t,” Keith croaks, but it’s no use. 

 

Ezor glares at Lance like he’s the scummiest creature in the entire universe. Keith watches in stunned silence as she moves, diving forward with murderous intent. Useless— he’s useless. Fighting to sit up and scream, yell, anything to make Ezor  _ stop _ . 

 

She gets within and foot or so of Lance, eyes narrowed menacingly, when everything comes to a grinding halt. 

 

Abruptly, her body freezes in place. It’s like watching a puppet when it’s first strung up. Limbs loose and eyes wide, without any ounce of control over its own actions. Her mouth gapes, and there she stands. Ramrod straight. Her spine set in a rigid line, arms pressed to her sides. 

 

“Oh,” she drawls. “Oh, that’s pretty good.”

 

_ What’s pretty good _ ? Keith wants to ask. Lance asks for him. 

 

But Ezor never answers. Instead, Lance grunts like he’s been punched in the stomach. The loud noise claims Keith’s full attention.  _ What the hell? _ It’s not— Lance shouldn’t ever make a sound like that. 

 

Keith looks on as Lance’s eyes flash a horrific, neon purple. The light burns bright and then fades to a softer lavender. Still unnatural. Still nothing at all like the usual shade of comforting cerulean. Wrong, so totally wrong. 

 

Like Ezor, Lance straightens out his spine and goes still. Even from this distance, Keith can make out the way his fingers begin to tremble around the handle of the red rifle. As if some invisible force is keeping him from lowering his weapon. Some masked puppeteer waiting behind the curtain, tugging and pulling the strings, making Lance do as they wish. 

 

Turning Lance to face Keith— to aim his weapon _at_ _Keith_. 

 

Keith blinks, staring at Lance like he’s never seen him before. Maybe this is a hallucination. Maybe Ezor knocked his head hard enough against the cold floor to screw with his brain. Hell, maybe Keith’s dreaming. At this point he  _ hopes  _ he’s dreaming. That this is just some twisted nightmare his imagination conjured up. 

 

Everything has escalated so quickly, and Keith feels like… God, he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling at this point. 

 

Keith breathes the name. Hesitant, weak. Barely audible, like a desperate plea. “Lance?”

 

Lance’s head swivels to face Keith. The flickering lavender dances around his irises. Dazzling and horrific. His mouth shapes into a surprised little ‘o’ before morphing into something unsettling, a devious smirk that spells danger. 

 

Slowly, Lance cocks his head to the side, studying Keith where he struggles on the floor. 

 

“Huh.” The word falls from Lance’s mouth, casual as an afterthought. Keith feels like he’s being taken apart by that gaze— but in a totally unnatural way. Like Keith is something disgustingly fascinating Lance discovered on the bottom of his shoe. Flickering purple against dull blue. Eyes devoid of life or their familiar Lance-like spark. 

 

Keith sinks into himself. His heart thumps wildly in his chest. Pulse fluttering, sweat trickles down the curve of his jaw, down the line of his forearms. 

 

This? This is  _ not  _ Lance. 

 

But then… who is it?

 

“What the hell—” Keith chokes around the rest of his words. “What— what’d you do to him?”

 

Horrifyingly enough, Lance is the one to respond. His footfalls echo throughout the chamber, and Keith winces at the threatening  _ thump’s. _ “They helped me,” Lance trills, taking a purposeful step forward. “This is what I’ve always wanted.” Another step. “Don’t you see?”

 

“No.” The world sways around Keith, careening and turning. He’s seconds away from being sick. “No,” he repeats. 

 

“No?” Lance scoffs. It’s an ugly, ugly noise. Nothing at all like Lance’s usual snicker. “I don’t think I asked, Keith. I’m  _ telling _ you this is what Lance wants.”

 

“It isn’t,” Keith tries again, throat on fire. 

 

Lance stands before Keith now. The toes of his paladin armor are within inches of Keith’s face. Cheek pressed to the cold floor, he can no longer see Lance’s expression. And he doesn’t have quite enough strength left to raise his head. 

 

“Oh, but it  _ is _ ,” Lance laughs, and it makes Keith’s skin crawl. “I’m afraid Lance doesn’t tell you everything, Mr. Fearless Leader.”

 

Before Keith can protest, pain shoots through his body. He finds himself stretched out on his back with the heel of Lance’s foot pressed into his stomach. The bruising will be awful— Keith already knows. But it’s the last thing on his mind with Lance looming over him. He’s struck again by how…  _ wrong _ this version of Lance feels. His expression twisted like some poorly crafted mask. Armored foot digging harshly into tender skin. 

 

“You know your lovely Blue Paladin is insecure, hm?” Lance hums. Instinctively, Keith’s eyes widen. “Ah, there it is! I know that look! You think that’s all there is to it?” A snort. “Ridiculous.”

 

“La—”

 

Keith gasps out loud as the pressure on his stomach increases. Lance bends and, just like that, he’s there. Close,  _ too  _ close. The swirling lavender is staggering. Pulsating, alive, it holds Keith in place. There’s one clear message in the grotesque set of Lance’s lips: you’re not going anywhere. 

 

“It’s your fault, you know?”

 

The words strike like bullets.  _ Your fault _ . 

 

“What… do you mean?” Keith murmurs.

 

“The insecurity, of course!” Lance’s gaze flicks down to Keith’s jawline, his collarbone, before returning to his eyes. “Well, not exactly, but, in a way, yes. When you two were at the Garrison, and you constantly whooped poor Lancey-Lance’s ass?”

 

“I…”

 

“Now, now, now.” Lance’s voice is saccharine sweet, trickling from his throat like poison. “Don’t lie to me. I know you remember, Keith.”

 

Keith swallows down his protests. 

 

“Anyway, that messed with our boy’s head. Years of watching you succeed, while he struggled along. All he wanted was to surpass you— his ‘rival.’ Then you, Mr. Hotshot, get yourself kicked out of the Garrison and, oh, wait, then you come back! Reappear out of nowhere!” Lance leans closer, breath tickling Keith’s face. “And claim you don’t  _ remember Lance _ .”

 

Every accusation stings, worse than any kick to the stomach ever could. Keith never should’ve lied— not to Lance. He’d always hoped the rivalry meant nothing, that it was only a way to pass the time and motivate Lance to ace simulations. Never in a million years did Keith think it ran so deep, that it really  _ mattered _ . 

 

“Lance, listen—”

 

“I don’t think he’s in the mood for your excuses right now, Keithy,” Lance interjects. “But I’m sure once I’m all finished with you, he’ll be interested to know. Not that you’ll be able to explain...” 

 

Gloved fingers glide down the side of Keith’s face, skimming lightly over his cheek. What should feel intimate feels more disconcerting. Cool to the touch as they press against Keith’s skin. It’s like being near a corpse— as if Lance’s ghost stands before Keith. 

 

“I’m so sorry,” Keith blurts. “You should never feel… I should've done something _ —”  _

 

“Like what?” This disturbing mockery of Lance cocks his head to the side. “How exactly would you help him?”

 

How  _ could  _ Keith help Lance? Set aside time to train with him, one-on-one or put him in charge of important missions or, hell, maybe just take the opportunity to tell him he  _ means something  _ or— 

 

The memory knocks the wind out of Keith's lungs. Of Lance's light knock at his bedroom door, stepping into the room hesitantly. His shoulders had been hunched, dark circles under his eyes, and Keith distinctly remembers wanting to hug Lance until that familiar smile returned. The beaten-down Lance who showed up at Keith's door back then had wanted reassurance. For the new leader to acknowledge everything he'd done. For  _ someone  _ to let Lance know he was an irreplaceable member of the team.

 

For a while, Keith thought he'd actually helped.  _ Leave the math to Pidge _ , he'd teased, uncertain of what else to say. And Lance— Lance had smiled, hadn't he?

 

But now… 

 

“Well, that certainly doesn't look like the face of a man who has answers,” Lance scoffs. “Maybe it'll come to you while you watch Lance kill your friends, huh? The precious paladins of Voltron? I imagine a little spilled blood would do the trick.”

 

_ This isn't Lance,  _ Keith reminds himself.  _ This isn't him.  _

 

“Although… I'm not sure if I can wait much longer. Killing you is  _ kinda _ —” Lance draws out the  _ i _ sound “—my priority. The fun part, if you will.”

 

“You don't want to do this,” Keith begs. Because regardless of what this monstrous Lance-imitation says, Keith knows Lance. He knows that he would never want to hurt his friends. “Lance, please, I’m serious.”

 

“So am I.” Tone sharp and icy. “With every passing second, I’m starting to consider strangling the life out of you more and more.”

 

“I know that I haven’t been the best leader, Lance, but I know you don’t want to kill me.”

 

Lance’s fingers stray lower, settling on Keith’s throat. They press down right as Keith swallows, and the pain is immediate. Pressure on his windpipe like Lance quite literally means to crush it. Keith can’t help but cry out. His body is already weak from fighting, and Lance is stronger than before. 

 

“Lance!” Keith tries to yell, but it’s nothing more than a croak. 

 

And, for one hopeful second, Lance’s expression changes. Flickering purple irises give way to glistening blue, like briny, ocean waves. The wicked smirk softens into a confused grimace and— fear. Fear contorts Lance’s face, widening his eyes and tugging at his jaw. 

 

It only lasts for an instant, though, before Lance flinches. A nasty growls tears its way free, and Lance jerks his head. As if the real Lance trapped inside is a nuisance he can easily shake off. 

 

“Shut— Shut  _ up,” _ Lance bellows. But the pressure on Keith's throat lessens just the slightest bit. Enough for him to actually speak. 

 

“You're important to the team!” Keith pours every ounce of energy he has left into those words. The world around them disappears. Everything narrowed down to this tiny space in this massive base. “You are, I promise. When we… were deciding on the new Black Paladin, you have no idea how much I was hoping it'd be… it'd be you.”

 

Lance jerks, and, yes, there's the ocean again. “What?” 

 

“You're… I know you’d make a great leader, Lance. You have the potential, okay? You do.”

 

Lance snorts, and the gesture is so very  _ Lance  _ that Keith forgets for a moment he's possessed. 

 

“And I thought that if… if Black didn't want Allura, it had to be you. The people we help, they… they  _ like _ you and  _ listen  _ to you. Plus, you… you really care about everyone we're saving.” Keith pauses. “That's big.”

 

Maybe Keith is hallucinating or maybe Lance is actually smiling. Small and shaky, but a smile is a smile. Especially one without its earlier evil intention. 

 

“Ke—  _ fuck _ !” Lance bows his head, and the tight grip on Keith's throat returns, like a deadly vice. “You… sly…” Lance lifts his head. “Fox.”

 

Keith has a second, if even that, to take in the powerful, glowing purple of Lance's eyes before pain bursts inside his skull. Squeezing, bearing down, sealing off his throat from drawing in another breath. And Lance is _laughing_ or cackling, more like, and it's incredibly disturbing. Keith probably deserves this, deserves to die here and now on the floor of this Galra base, but a small part of him still wishes he had more time. Time to tell Lance things he should've told him ages ago, time to make Lance feel wanted and loved and— 

 

“Lance, don't do this!” By some miracle, Keith manages to yell. His voice cracks on Lance’s name. 

 

The fingers around his neck freeze, and Keith barely makes out the miniscule shift in Lance’s features. Fuzzy, blurred around the edges, Keith's vision goes in and out of focus. And Keith is tired, maybe he should obey, should  do what this Lance asks and rest, close his eyes for just a few minutes and…

 

“Lance…”

 

It's Keith's most feeble attempt yet. And the last thing he hears, before the world turns black, is a desperate cry of his own name. In an all too familiar voice, one that sounds weird and distorted coming from such a usually cheery mouth. 

 

“Keith!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_ Gentle, like a caress.  _

 

_ That's how the voice starts. A distant echo from within, surrounding and enveloping Keith. He has no idea where he is, and his brain is far too muddled to make an educated guess. _

 

_ It's as if he's… floating. Suspended in midair. Or maybe wading through the murky depths of some strange, lilac ocean. His arms and legs refuse to move when he silently wills them to. As a matter of fact, most of his body remains immobile. Only his eyes seem to function properly and, even then, a haze of white distorts his vision. _

 

_ “Young paladin…” the voice booms again. And Keith can no longer ignore its insistence.  _

 

Yes? _ Keith goes to say but his lips are still. Like they were glued shut. But his thought must reach the speaker somehow. _

 

_ “Your Red Paladin did so well,” the mysterious voice carries on. “He took care of the Black Lion... Quite impressively.” _

 

_ The Red Paladin… it takes a staggering moment for Keith to remember  _ Lance  _ pilots Red now. Which means—   _

 

How?  _ His mind screams.  _ Why? 

 

_ “You will see shortly.” The disembodied words of condolence have to belong to the Black Lion. It's the first time Keith has ever really interacted with them like this. Telepathetic bonds between the lions and their pilots are special. The true sign of a team, of a union unlike anything else in the universe.  _

 

_ A small purr rumbles through the tiny head space they share. Comforting.  _

 

Is he okay?  _ Keith prompts.  _ Did Lance make it out in—  _ his brain stumbles over the realization.  _ Did Lance pilot the Black Lion to safety?

 

_ Another soft purr. But there’s a hint of fond exasperation that catches Keith off guard. “You’ll see,” the lion answers for what feels like the hundredth time.  _

 

_ The words continue in a constant loop. Echoing, booming, thunderous in this strange little place. Like a broken record.  _

 

_ “You’ll see. You’ll see. You’ll see…” _

 

_ And—  _

 

Light. 

 

Bursting from every corner. Keith gasps, for air, for the sake of surprise, when his surroundings come into startling clarity. He reaches blindly forward. Maybe the Black Lion never truly left him or maybe, just maybe, the team is here. Wherever the hell he is. 

 

Before Keith can draw his arm back, he’s falling forward. He leans a bit too much and right into someone’s arms. Thin yet strong, providing the warm embrace Keith finds himself craving. Fingers curl into possessive claws in the fabric of Keith’s suit. Tugging until Keith is completely flush with this mystery person. 

 

“Keith,” the stranger cries. He speaks the name like a prayer, like something sacred and precious, with a shuddering sigh at the end. And Keith knows. 

 

_ Lance.  _

 

“I’m so sorry,” Lance rushes on. His words are a tad garbled and— oh. This brilliant, ridiculous asshole is choked up. Over Keith. “I— I’m so glad you’re alive.”

 

Those words spark a flame deep in the very core of Keith’s being. Lance is relieved to have Keith there, alive. And, sure, Keith is no expert when it comes to  _ feelings _ . But this, he understands. The raw honesty in Lance’s admission, the frantic rise and fall of his chest. Lance has always struggled to pretend in front of Keith. 

 

“You… you flew Black,” Keith manages to wheeze. It’s the most coherent thought he can string together. “And saved… me.”

 

Lance huffs out a noise that’s equal parts laugh and scoff. “After nearly  _ killing  _ you.”

 

“That wasn’t you.” Keith’s eyes flutter shut. “You were being controlled—”

 

“Well, it sure felt like my hands wrapped around your throat.”

 

“It was your body, but it wasn’t  _ you _ , Lance.” Keith eases back just enough to fix Lance with a glare. “You and I both know that. Asshole.”

 

He tosses in the insult for safe measure. Their dynamic rests on half-hearted insults and good-natured jabs. Without the teasing, they wouldn’t be Keith and Lance. And, just as Keith hoped, the familiar banter draws Lance’s lips into a grin. 

 

“A dick even seconds after falling out of a healing pod,” Lance jokes. Crinkles form at the corners of his eyes, born of years of laughing at ornery young relatives. “And to think I— we. We were worried about you.”

 

“You were worried about me?”

 

“No!” Lance squeaks. For a moment, Keith worries Lance will drop him. “No, the team was worried because we didn’t wanna look for another Black Paladin after we just appointed a new one!”

 

“I mean…” Keith smirks. “You  _ did  _ pilot the Black Lion back here. I don’t know why you’d have to worry about finding a new pilot.”

 

“Well— you know! I was… uh. I… I was simply fulfilling my duties as your right-hand man.”

 

Keith stifles a blush.  _ My right-hand man _ . 

 

“You’re infuriating, geez,” Lance groans. “I thought you’d be mad at me or something. But you’re not, and it’s super weird.”

 

Keith blinks. “Do you want me to be mad at you…?”

 

“Of course not! I don’t know, I just—” 

 

“Ahem?” 

 

Keith and Lance both startle to attention. They’d somehow forgotten about their audience. 

 

“Uh, right.” Lance releases an awkward chortle. “I told you they missed you!”

 

Pidge rolls her eyes, but Keith easily makes out the dark circles peeking from beneath her glasses. The rest of the team brackets Lance, wearing matching sets of bags under their eyes. Poor Hunk has hair sticking up in every direction. These people have actually cried over Keith. They genuinely cared enough to worry…?

 

“The dude needs a nap,” Hunk answers. Wariness weighs heavy on his frame. His gaze darts to Lance, expectant. “Don’t you think?”

 

“He’s right.” Pidge flaps her hand as if she’d be shooing an annoying fly. “We can talk to him later. When he’s not so quiznaking groggy.”

 

“The boy  _ has _ been through a lot,” Coran seconds. Allura nods along with him, eying Keith with a pinched expression. “A few more ticks should do the trick.”

 

“Ticks?” Pidge scoffs.

 

“You know what I mean!”

 

“He needs a few  _ vargas _ ,” Hunk points out. “Just look at him!”

 

Keith flushes. How bad does he look?

 

“More like quintants…” Allura comments, tapping her chin.

 

“Alright, alright!” Gently, Lance twists their bodies around so that Keith’s arm rests over his shoulders. The height difference forces Lance to slouch the slightest bit. “Here, I’m going to take you back to your room. I think you’re still delirious. Trust me, you’ll be pissed at me once you’ve taken a nice, long nap.”

 

“I’ve rested plenty,” Keith protests. But even he knows how lame an attempt it is. 

 

Lance guides him out of the room and into the nearest corridor. Blearily, Keith glances at each door as they pass. The blue flickering lights of the castle are abnormally intriguing. Blue, like Lance's stupid eyes and stupid shirt and jeans...

 

“Clearly you haven't rested enough if you’re smiling at me like—” Lance makes a choked noise. “Like that or whatever. I almost killed you, dude. That’s serious.”

 

“I know.”

 

“And, sure, I was possessed. But that doesn’t completely excuse me.”

 

The argument is pleasantly mature for Lance, and yet Keith keeps getting distracted. Focusing on their conversation is increasingly difficult. Lance carefully steers Keith down hallway after hallway, toward his room. The arm around his waist is a comforting presence. Steadying and confident. 

 

“I may be a little, uh.” Keith mumbles. “Yeah. But I know that I have no reason to be angry. You… you could’ve killed me, but you didn’t.”

 

“Came awfully close…” Lance goes silent as he types in the passcode to Keith’s room. Which, huh. Keith hardly remembers giving Lance the code to his bedroom. 

 

“And… I should be apologizing to you,” Keith carries on. 

 

“You're losing it, buddy.” Lance breathes a nervous laugh into Keith's hair. “Let's get you into bed before you say more crazy shit.”

 

With the practiced precision of a good friend, Lance maneuvers Keith to his bed. Deft fingers tug back the covers. He urges Keith forward until he can comfortably climb onto the mattress. The suit from the pod isn’t exactly comfortable, but Keith gets the idea that Lance would die from embarrassment if he had to help him change clothes, too.

 

“Hold up,” Lance mumbles. Before Keith drops off into dreamland once again, Lance reaches behind him. He presses those same slender fingers into the pillow. Almost like he’s…

 

“Are you fluffing my pillow?”

 

“S-shut up!” Lance pulls away his hands as if they’ve been burned. “It’ll help, okay? Now lay down. I can’t put up with this ‘Fuzzy Post-Healing Pod’ Keith any longer.”

 

Keith does as he’s asked but can’t seem to shake the thought lingering in the back of his mind. Lance stands and regards Keith with blatant interest. Features softened, he worries at his bottom lip. It's hard, near impossible, for Keith to look away. 

 

Eventually, Lance turns on his heel and makes for the door. Right as he reaches the entryway, broad shoulders framed by the light from the halls, Keith opens his mouth. “Lance?”

 

Predictably, Lance pauses. But he doesn’t look back. As if he can sense the question on the tip of Keith’s tongue. 

 

“What… What snapped you out of it? The trance Narti had you under?”

 

Silence hangs thick in the air. Keith expects Lance to walk out, to leave him hanging and chalk this last inquiry up to a healing pod haze. Lance’s shoulder blades shift, body tensing. And Keith half-expects to be yelled at. 

 

Lance clears his throat. A raspy whisper, barely audible even in the quiet room. “I… don’t worry about it, Keith.” A beat. “Rest.”

 

Long after the door hisses shut, as Keith lies awake staring at the ceiling, he can’t help but wonder what happened. It isn't often that Lance lets a failed mission get to him— not to this extent. Whatever went down, whatever Lance saw… it certainly rattled him.

 

When Keith drifts off later, it's to resurfaced memories. Of the fight. Of his exchange with not-Lance. Of Lance's insecurities, bared to the world.

 

So it comes as no surprise when he wakes up with Lance only a foot away, nestled under the covers. And if Keith slides closer— seeking out warmth, of course— no one needs to know. 

 

From here on out, Keith fully intends to show Lance how much he means to the team. 

 

And, more importantly, to him. 

 

* * *

 

 

(In the days, months,  _ years  _ that follow, Keith does just that.)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER AND NEVER CRIED AGAIN THE END
> 
> thanks for reading!! hit me with those sweet sweet kudos and comments if you enjoyed. and make sure to come say hi to me on twitter/tumblr @tobiologist


End file.
